Things happen to everybody. 
Good things, bad things.
All sorts of things.

With the good things, we want them to be because of us. We want them to be because of something we did. 
We want full credit.

But with the bad things, we want something, anything, to blame it on.
Some great injustice.
And sometimes we're lucky enough to have that be the case.
But other times, deep down we know that maybe the greatest injustice of all is us.
We are the great injustice that we dread.

As time goes on, you learn more about yourself. You uncover parts of you that were kept hidden, mostly from yourself.
The thing with life is that you really can only hide from yourself. Others eventually see the truth, see the real you.
But if you bury a part of yourself long enough, you begin to believe it.
Because,
hey,
if you deny something exists, it's true, right?
You know yourself better than anybody.

But once you start to rediscover those pieces that you buried so long ago, things and events in your life make more sense. You start to realize that you caused them. Whatever the reason may be, you captained your own ship.
You led yourself here.
How does it feel to be that great injustice?